


What We Lose, What We Keep

by TheRODster



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Headcanon that Roddy has fangs, Heavy Angst, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Multi, Pre-Relationship, Self-Harm, Slow Romance, mild Self-harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 19:31:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16024496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRODster/pseuds/TheRODster
Summary: When all you've really got left is yourself, what more do you have to lose?For a former decepticon and a self-destructive captain, you'll learn that there's a lot left you can lose. No matter how pretty you dress it up or pretend it's not there, there's always the lingering aspects you hate the most and just might do anything to get rid of. For Drift and Rodimus, sometimes you have to tear yourself all the way down to build yourself back up.





	What We Lose, What We Keep

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Call me Roddy and this is my first ever Ao3 fic! I love transformers and driftrod stole my heart <3  
> Forewarning, this features really heavy themes of implied self-harm/active scenes of mild self-harm.

“Drift, you’re making that face again,” Rodimus said from his spot on the berth.

His optics drifted over to his Amica, engine ticking quietly in the hushed air of the small habsuite. Drift didn’t answer and Rodimus didn’t expect one. They’d spent the better part of the evening sparring on the training deck and now Drift wished to meditate in silence. Rodimus sensed something unspoken in Drift’s posture, an odd stiffness to his shoulders. Rodimus had sat in on enough sessions to tell as he readjusted the pillow under his chin. The fiery mech let the curiosity sit open in his field, but he dimmed his optics back into the nap he’d been slipping in and out of for nearly an hour. He vented through his nose, keeping one optic online to watch Drift. The white mech was nestled by the floor length view port, a coarse fabric mat unfurled beneath him. Its edges touched the window and the faintest starlight casted a soft glow across Drift.

He’d nearly dozed when his audials picked up a faint cracking like a rock being split. He reset his optics and lifted his helm to catch Drift slouching forward. The white mech was turned away, plates shifted outward like he’d taken himself by surprise. His hands were the only thing moving and Rodimus’ brow drew down in a frown. He repeated his Amica’s name, lifting himself up to rest on his elbows. When Drift’s finials finally snapped up from their low position, Rodimus felt a sinking knot in his tank as if Drift had forgotten the captain was there. A small gleam of an optic shifted onto Rodimus from the floor and Drift’s expression slipped from tightlipped to neutral.

“I’m fine, Roddy,” he said slowly, like an exhale as his fingers clutched around something Rodimus couldn’t see.

“You sure?” Rodimus pushed, a bad joke about Drift’s aura being off sitting on his glossa.

“It’s fine.”

Drift’s response was sharper than he intended and a soft hue came over his face. He held open his fingers carefully, dusting small pieces of something into one palm. Rodimus waited, expecting to see it, but Drift didn’t pause at the berth. He brushed past for the trash receptacle in the wall and in went the broken chunks of green quartz crystal. Drift watched it fall down the slim dark tunnel before he pushed the slot shut. His fingers lingered on the latch, glossa moving under his lips. He tasted energon along his denta and tension returned to his upturned finials.

“Roddy, do you think we could skip Swerve’s tonight?” he ventured, swallowing the pink stain in his mouth.

“Wait, what? But we’re supposed to meet up with Brainstorm and Blaster. It’s karaoke night!”

“I know, but you can go without me, right? No big deal.”

“But you love karaoke-”

“No. You do. I like to sit and watch.”

“Drift, are you sure you’re fine?” Rodimus whispered after a long pause, voice low like someone could be listening. Knowing Red Alert’s paranoia, Rodimus made a mental note to sweep for bugs.

Drift’s silence was unnerving for a moment and he reached out with both his servo and field for his Amica. What the two lacked in words, they more than made up for it in a tactile bond. Rodimus squeezed their palms together and he sat up to cross his legs. The blanket pooled around his thighs and he tilted his helm at the white mech. There was a closed off charge that tingled through Drift’s field before he sat down like bearing a heavy weight. He licked his denta, feeling a soreness to his mouth as he let their tight grasp loosen over the sheets. A warm pulse bled into Rodimus’ field and he pushed it tentatively around Drift. It was an unspoken question and a quiet invitation to speak, but the longer he peered at the concerned look on Rodimus’ face made Drift let out a low noise. He knew his Amica only wanted to help, but an age old flicker in his spark turned that look of concern into a look of pity. He turned their palms over, eyes studying the lengths of their wrists. His fingers smoothed down flaking paint along the inside of Rodimus’ forearm and a glance upwards made the fiery mech flinch.

“You’ve been picking again,” Drift sighed, holding his Amica’s wrist tighter when Rodimus tried to pull away.

“Old news, Drift,” he replied, scowling at the change in topic.

“We’ve talked about this-”

“It’s no big deal. We both know I do it when I get nervous.”

“Is the anxiety getting bad again? Or is it the nightmares?”

“Don’t change the subject, Drift.”

Drift opened his fingers and Rodimus yanked his servo back into his lap. The captain looked disgruntled and he ran his own fingers over the patches of deteriorated paint. Drift felt like a hypocrite as he smiled softly and reached out to squeeze Rodimus’ knee. He shook his helm, voice smooth as he once more told Rodimus he was fine. He covered his mouth with a quick hand, faking a yawn and contracting his field to show exhaustion. Too much training, restlessness, not enough fuel; he rattled off the excuses he knew would derail Rodimus. Deterred by the earlier touch of his wrist, Rodimus sighed as he took the signal to drop the subject. For a long moment they said nothing, fields washing over one another hesitantly. Drift ran his fingers over the blanket until he found the brunt of the fiery mech’s thigh. Fingertips still just above the knee, Drift lifted his gaze to find Rodimus staring at the meditation corner. His eyes didn’t seem fully focused and Drift felt a sliver of pain in his spark for Rodimus. He lifted his fingers, finding a hip and then over soft biolights until he settled the slow touch upon a shoulder.

“You can stay here if you like,” Drift offered, leaning forward enough to test his luck. He licked his lower lip, wincing as he tasted energon again.

Optics flickered towards him and for a moment, Drift was worried Rodimus had noticed the pink stain on his lips. He tried to hide it in a tightlipped and neutral smile, but his mouth fell open in a soft “oh” as his Amica moved close and nestled against him. Rodimus relaxed, cheek resting on the curve of Drift’s shoulder between his neck and pauldron. His exhale tickled the thinnest cables up Drift’s neck and he shivered as he folded his arms around Rodimus. Their fields reached an uneasy harmony until Rodimus nuzzled into the warm neck cables and wrapped his own arms around Drift’s trim waist. Despite the unanswered questions between them, the contact was always soothing and Rodimus rumbled his engine quietly and let his optics dim. Drift waited, counting the slowing ticks as the captain’s engine idled into a dull recharge. It was the moment he’d been waiting for as he eased Rodimus onto his side back into the pillows.

Drift rose like a ghost, cupping his Amica’s cheek as he tasted energon again. The tang of it sat on his glossa and eventually he retreated to the small and tucked away washrack attached to his hab. His optics, a dull but glinting blue, lit up the mirror before the auto-lights kicked on. He frowned at himself, finials flattening when he spied the soft stain on his lips. His mouth tightened into a grimace before he found the nerve to open. Energon bled down from his denta and he ran his glossa over the flattened and raw former points of fangs. They had smoothed down, remaining just shy of jagged. He eyed the long length of the dark grey file in the pit of the sink and he felt bile rising in the back of his intake. He gripped the edges of the sink, hunched over as he spat out energon into the drain. Looking to the door, his spark spun as he pulled himself from the dark moment.

If Rodimus came in…his fingers curled around the file and he held it tightly. His spark screamed as he lifted the metal to what was left of his fangs and with a hard scrape, he kept filing. He filed until his denta bled rivulets down his chin, but the mech staring back was now normal; had to be normal. He dropped the file, turning the faucet on high and letting it fill until he shoved his face into the piping hot stream. He filled his mouth with the scalding water, wanting desperately not to taste his own energon. The heat stung in his mouth, a burn that helped him anchor himself as he finally came up for air. He panted, optics blown wide as energon pumped fast through his tubes and pounded in his audials. He almost wished Rodimus would wake up and find him; anything that could stop his servos from shaking. His fingers curled into familiar dents along the sink edge and he shoved his face into the stained water.

He stayed there until his knees ached and further until it splayed up his back to his shoulders. He watched the chronometer, wondering how long he could keep himself from the mech in his berth. His Amica was so bright, but so dim and Drift felt a pang of bitterness. Rodimus would just have to stay in the dark. Drift could handle this. He forced his finials high, lifting his head to take in the gaunt expression in his face. He vented high and strained before he passed a hand over his face and sighed. He left the file in the blushed droplets of water draining and staggered out of the washrack, optics heavy as he saw the mess of blankets and pillows. All he suddenly craved was warmth and he instinctively found the gap waiting for him as he curled around his Amica. Rodimus only stirred for a moment, spoiler halves twitching. The heavy burden of Drift’s field sunk into the blank and dreamy energy around the captain and Drift choked suddenly on a sob. He held back, pressing his face into the spoiler mount, forcing his vocalizer offline as pain filled his mouth.


End file.
